


Together!

by Esbe



Series: The Soldier and The Spy (series) [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: First Time, M/M, The Soldier and the Spy AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-10 00:01:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6929743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esbe/pseuds/Esbe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The ride the next morning after the party at Mycroft's country home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Together!

**Author's Note:**

> If you have read ['Yearning' ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6621829) you know whats happened just before. If you haven't there's not much need to do so.  
> But I would be extremely happy should you read that as well and tell me if it was worth it.
> 
> Also while it is in that AU you don't have to have read The Soldier and The Spy either. But be warned that if you plan on reading it then there are minor spoilers for it in here. But I just re-watched TAB and am once again in love with a moustached Watson which I anyways take as ACD gospel.
> 
> This is my first foray into smut and I'm bloody nervous.

They lay on the grass together. Coats discarded, gazing wonderingly at other and in one of their minds wondering at the the fate that had brought them here. As usual his doctor seemed to wait patiently for him. He reached up nervously to touch Watson's cheek.

“What do you want? Tell me. Please.” Mycroft begged.

“I thought that a Holmes never asks,” Watson teased. “Can’t you simply deduce as usual?”

“Don’t tease, doctor. Not…”

“You called me John last night.

“I… yes. I did. I do. To myself.” He looked up uncertainly seeking his John’s eyes and finding his certainty in them he continued, “But I can't be wrong about this, John. I cannot be wrong. I can’t. Not about this.”

“Oh darling. I meant only to make you smile.” Mycroft shivered at the endearment. “This means as much to me as it does to you. I assure you. “

Mycroft nodded. “Perhaps I have been on the edge far too long.”

“We both have.” Watson pulled his skittish companion in slowly. He laid his lips softly against his lover’s brow, breathing in the smells of his skin, his hair, soap and pomade, and fresh sweat. Feeling the smooth softness.

“John, … I… I don’t… know. I haven’t…”

“Never?”

“Well, in Eton there was an elder boy. But those were mere fumblings. And then in Cambridge, I had a single encounter with another man. But by then I knew where my life would take me and the potential risk was too great and so we never…”

“Hush. It’s ok. You aren’t totally naïve. You have been married. Trust me when I say that most of it is very much the same.”

“And you? Have you?”

“Yes. Yes I have. Is that fine? It—It was in the army. There hasn’t been…”

“No no no. I didn’t mean that. Yes, it’s fine by me. One of us should know, after all.”

“You must tell me if I do anything you don’t like. Please.”

Mycroft merely nodded trustingly.

Watson kissed a path across the brow and then the closed eyes. Gliding his lips tenderly against the delicate lids, letting his breath cast a cloud of warmth on the skin, brushed his moustache across delicate spots. Slowly, with agonising care his hand moved along Mycroft’s. Tracing the path from the fingers, the wrist, down to the sharp elbow, and up the elegantly muscled arm, to his shoulder and then back down again. Their other hands that rested on the ground were now close enough for him to caress the inside of Mycroft’s elbow, their sides aligned. Mycroft twisted his hand to grasp Watson’s sleeve. His other hand stood hovering in the air between them. As Watson’s palm once again wandered down Mycroft’s arm he softly tugged that hand and rested it on his own leg. Instantly Mycroft clutched at the leg. Feeling more confident now, Watson placed his hand on Mycroft’s nape and drew their mouths close.

Try as Mycroft might, he hadn’t been able to keep his eyes open. He could feel the taut muscled thigh of his soldier beneath one hand, his other hand desperately clutched at Watson’s sleeve as if seeking an anchor. The lips skimming his face were tender yet teasing. Watson’s hand continued to caress his arm up and down, the touch somewhat more firm now and then it crested up to rest on Mycroft’s nape and drew him closer.

The kiss was almost a relief. The first drops of rain on parched land, slivers of vermillion in an inky sky, crocuses signalling spring after a harsh winter: a promise of things to come, a reassurance, a sign of their mutual passion. Watson pressed them closer, firm yet tender. Grasping and caressing. He rubbed his lips against Mycroft’s, pressing and in intervals, angling closer. Within a few moments Mycroft gave a huff of impatience. He dropped himself flat on the grass and pulled Watson’s head down with him. He captured Watson’s lips in his and sucked the lower one into his mouth hard.

Watson growled in response, dragged himself further and pressed his entire weight onto Mycroft’s torso, hands tangling in his hair, digging in his shoulders, running over his neck, seeking, questing. It wasn’t enough. He needed more. He held Mycroft’s jaw firmly and forced his tongue in his lover’s mouth, thrusting in and drinking in the sweetness. He drew out Mycroft’s tongue and suckled it. The raw intimacy of the act drew another groan from Mycroft, who dragged a hand down Watson’s back, cupped his arse, slid down to his thighs and roughly pulled the soldier’s legs towards himself. Watson was now fully cradled between Mycroft’s thighs. His hands roved Watson’s firm body impatiently, greedily. Their ride together had worked up a fine sweat and the fresh scent of it in the morning breeze was heady. Mycroft pulled out the soldier’s shirt tails from his trousers.

The cool morning breeze felt soothing on the small of his back for a moment before Mycroft’s bare hands touched his skin and set it to fire again. Mycroft was tugging the shirt up and then gave up with a frustrated grunt. Next, he dug his hands between them and started to undo the buttons on Watson’s riding vest and then his shirt. Watson impatiently dragged his mouth along Mycroft’s jaw. Licking beneath his ear, nibbling at the shell, scraping his teeth on the neck. Mycroft wrapped one leg around Watson and dragged his calf from his buttock to thigh, pressing against him in a raw urgency. In no time, Watson’s deft fingers untied Mycroft’s cravat and opened his collar, quickly unbuttoning the top buttons of the shirt as well.

“You are rather good at this,” Mycroft approved panting.

“Simply used to dressing and undressing myself regularly.” Watson pushed away the shirt even as he dipped his tongue in the hollow of Mycroft’s neck lapping and laving, pushing the tip to trace the ridge of the collarbone all the way to the shoulder. He then bit hard into the fleshiest part of the shoulder eliciting a gasp and then sucked at the spot, drawing blood to the surface and rupturing the delicate capillaries. Mycroft arched up in ecstasy, greedily seeking relief.

“John, please.”

Watson dragged down his hand and palmed the hard length of Mycroft’s crotch.

“Yesssss… pleeease....”

He rubbed and kneaded the flesh through the layers between them.

“More, John. More.”

Watson unbuttoned the placket of Mycroft’s trousers, pulled out his shirttails and dipped his hand inside. Hardness and warmth covered in soft linen greeted him. He heaved himself up on his hands. Mycroft let out a protesting mewl.

“Just one moment, darling. Let me see you, please… You are beautiful and I’ve never seen you, I need…”

Mycroft opened his eyes and glared petulantly at his lover for barely a moment before he caught Watson’s pleading, admiring, rapt gaze, roving over his body. It was intoxicating. It was an act of lovemaking in itself. He was glad Watson had unbuttoned him and thrust his crotch up, demanding. Immediately Watson’s eyes shifted lower. Watson rested his weight on his knees and raised shaking hands to part the placket and then the slit in Mycroft’s underlinen. He inhaled sharply as Mycroft’s erection jutted out in proud impatience, seeking his touch.

Mycroft shivered as the cool breeze of the morning touched his most intimate flesh. The breeze battled with his lover’s heated gaze. Obviously, the latter won. His cock hardened almost impossibly. Was there anything more arousing than his captain’s gaze on him? Watson licked his lips as if in anticipation and a fevered shudder ran through Mycroft. He had heard of the act. What would those lips feel like?

He roughly hauled Watson and flipped them around. Crushing their mouths together, he poured out his yearning, his pent-up frustration, and his sharpened need. His hands framed Watson’s skull, even as his tongue plunged into his doctor’s mouth, incessantly seeking, promising, demanding, pleading. He pulled out to suckle at his lower lip, wishing he could bruise it and leave a livid mark for all to see. As if sensing his wishes, Watson whimpered beneath him. With a frustrated groan, Mycroft dragged his mouth in a wet stripe along his jaw. Even at this hour, his soldier had shaved afresh. The bay-rum stung his tongue. Taking little nips he traversed to the side of Watson’s neck. Once there he latched on to the soft skin, teasing with tongue and teeth, his hands now busy unravelling the doctor.

He undid the buttons on Watson’s torso, then his braces and the studs and then rucked up the shirt and undershirt to gather beneath his armpits. He dragged his nails and his mouth on the skin revealed. Greedily seeking the flesh, he employed his lips, tongue and teeth, his fingers, palm and nails, across the expanse of Watson's chest. Watson writhed beneath him, chanting his name in a never-ending plea. His impatient pleas were driving Mycroft further to the edge. He dragged himself further down opening Watson’s drawers and dragging both layers down together. He hardly paused to see the effect of his ministrations before he dived down to nip at the crease at his groin. He breathed in deep, filling himself with the musk of his lover.

That pause was all it took for Watson to wrest back some control. He dragged Mycroft back up to lie on top of him.

“I don’t think I will last long. But I want this together.”

The voice was ragged with lust.

“How?” Mycroft growled.

Watson pushed him up gently. As Mycroft lifted himself up a bit, Watson pushed and pulled him to align their bodies. He slid underneath him in a sinuous glide till their cock’s were aligned and then he pulled his spy closer, bringing their heated flesh together until he could wrap his hand around both.

“This way,” was the answer. “Can you dip into my left pocket? … yes, get that out. Pour some on your hand and smear it on the both of us. It will help…. There love… like this. Yes. Yessss…. God! I love your fingers, I’ve fantasised about your hands… Those fingggers… Unnnngh….” Watson thrust into those beloved fingers.

Mycroft watched in fascination. He had never imagined that mutual pleasure could be sought this way. His eyes drifted from their combined flesh thrusting in his hand, following the dense line of hair that grew narrow and sparse and then widened on his soldier’s breast, across the wide expanse of his shoulders, to the bullet scar that had brought him home, up the sweep of his neck, taut and flush with arousal, past the lips parted in guttural groans, up to the heated eyes that had fascinated and entrapped him with their honesty.

Watson couldn’t stand it anymore. He grabbed Mycroft by his nape and caught his mouth in a fierce kiss. “Together… togeth….”

He began thrusting in earnest and Mycroft finally responded in kind. His grip hardened and he too rutted with abandon. They soon found a rhythm, a natural cadence. All that existed now were their mingled moans, the rising musk from their bodies, the sound of flesh against flesh and the beat of hearts against the others chest.

“John… your hand too… please…”

Watson pushed in his hand between them capping the heads of their cocks, smearing the beads with his palm, rubbing his calluses over the tops. Mycroft groaned into his mouth.

“I’m clo… are you…is it fine?”

“Yes… oh yes... togethaaah…”

Within seconds of each other they found their releases. Later, neither could have said distinctly if it was Mycroft’s orgasm that triggered Watson’s or Watson’s shout of release that eventually drowned Mycroft. All that they knew was that it had been _together_. To Mycroft Holmes and John Watson, diplomat and wordsmith, that simple and mild word felt just right.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there.  
> Esbe has run off to hide under some blankets. She is unable to read your comments. But, unless you are laughing outright, her PC will send you some lovingly thank you notes should you deign to write to her. Her PC is named Mark III and is a very handsome loveable computer.  
> Now, Mark III's 30" screen frequently displays whole or parts of Mark Gatiss and Martin Freeman pics so he suggests that you may be interested in seeing the lovely posts by  
> [EnigmaticPenguin](http://enigmaticpenguinofdeath.tumblr.com/post/48767858036/a-spot-of-mark-gatiss-hand-porn), (my go to site for anything Gatiss) and [communionnimrod](http://communionnimrod.tumblr.com/post/97763615676/gatissed-mark-gatiss-hands-appreciation-post) which Bee stumbled upon purely for _research purposes_.  
>  Thank you.
> 
> PS: Kudos are lovely comments divine.


End file.
